‘No mate, I’m Pliers. That’s Chaka Demus over there at the buffet.’
Happy Christmas, Everton is over.
This originally started as a preview, but never got finished, so talking about the World Cup and the prospect of Frank Lampard’s job coming under pressure now seem somewhat redundant.
However, as a side note, the one good thing about the the tax-dodging technician, Lionel Messi, finally getting his hands-soaked-in-the blood-of migrant-workers on the ‘biggest prize in sport’, is how much it must have riled the other llama-necked step-over merchant.
But anyway, that all seems a half-hearted James Tarkovski punt away now, doesn’t it, dear reader?
This was bad.
Everton bad.
They got lucky with the six week break following the two hidings at Bournemouth; that the seething discontent was allowed to dissipate and the World Cup provided something of a palette cleanser. A sports-washed sorbet, if you will.
But in a manner that it seems only the Toffees – maybe Sunderland? – are capable of, they conspired to spurn that chance of a clean start to the second half of the season with this almighty chip-pan-fire-on-the-children’s-ward of a performance.
The eminently likeable Lampard said afterwards, in his now all-too-familiar announcing-the-death-of-a-Royal tones, that we created the better chances and so had to be more clinical – and Antony Gordon in particular wasted Everton’s best bit of play of the game with a casual finish close to the keeper when put in by Idrissa Gana Gueye. That would have obviously changed the complexion of the match, however, that is still a very generous interpretation of the way this game unfolded.
After going behind on six minutes to Yerry Mina’s header, the bottom side in the division should have been there to be pulverised. Get them on the back foot, doubting themselves and maybe secretly accepting their position. Instead, in what has now become a Goodison tradition, Ruben Neves was given the time and space to dictate proceedings. Daniel Podense’s half-volleyed equaliser then, at the end of an intelligent move that started with a short corner, came as no surprise whatsoever.
The summer’s transfer dealings looked like they had the makings of a plan behind them. The two centre-halves are a definite upgrade, to the extent that the Everton social media department seem to be living on – a bit like the Ramones – Tarkovski blocks. You’re welcome. But the rest now appears questionable to say the least. Amadou Onana, Dwight McNeil and Neil Maupay cost the fat end of £70 million. You really don’t have to look much further than that when trying to diagnose your problems.
At one point Maupay had a clear run on goal as the ball broke from the halfway line. The Frenchman’s becoming a bit of an emblem for this team’s all-round shiteness in Salomon Rondon’s absence (peace, out, SR9), and you have to have some sympathy for a fella half Dominic Calvert-Lewin’s size being asked to play as a straight replacement. However, in this unedifying vignette Maupay looked like he was attempting the wall at the end of Ninja Warrior.
Similarly McNeil. It took <REDACTED><REDACTED><REDACTED> to free us of the exhausting Gylfi Sigurdsson debate, about where the best position is for someone with no pace whatsoever but who can occasionally bend a pearler into the top corner. But then, inexplicably, we go straight out and buy a replacement who manages to be even more anonymous, if that’s even a saying. Less onymous? Anyway, no one is going to be ‘building a team around’ Dwight any time soon.
Onana’s also been a huge disappointment. He’s massive and he plays for Belgium so he must be decent was presumably the scouting report before we bought him, but thus far he’s offered the team very little. You feel that he should be good – again, because he’s fucking huge and he plays for Belgium – but what does he actually do?
But at least Alex Iwobi runs around loads now – so he’s apparently in line for a great big contract. Again, this feels like a fucking well-trodden path. Littered with dog shit, loads of them laughing gas canisters, and Andre Gomes.
Next up, Manchester City away, obviously. Fresh off the back of absolute iron girder with those misunderstood socialist troubadours from down the road as well. So that should be a heartwarming festive occasion for all the family.
Will Lampard’s Everton career hinge on the Brighton game straight after that then? Or will he even make it that far?
His one obvious strength since he came has been his ability to connect with the club and the fanbase – parts of which protested to get him appointed – and so there’s a real reluctance from anyone to see the fella who celebrated as he did after that Palace game, and who gave that little speech about Seamus Coleman in the changies, hounded out like so many before him. But ultimately, winning games is a large part of his job description. And on that crucial KPI he’s severely lacking.
And the stark reality is that right now there are not three team worse than Everton in the Premier League.
There’s presumably a small amount of money to spend in January, in a market that’s traditionally tough anyway, especially when the selling club’s can smell your desperation and any player worth his salt will be wondering what the fuck he is walking in to. Do you let Lampard spend it and hope he can turn it around? Or do you cling to the fact that somehow we are still just outside the relegation places and give a new man as much time and the best possible opportunity to impose himself on the squad and save us from the drop?
If it’s the latter, and you have no faith remaining in Lampard, then do it today. If not, then support him regardless of what happens against Brighton and let it be known that’s what you are going to do, as we are all in this together. The decision, either way, has to be based on more than a single game and the ‘mood of the fans’.
Elsewhere, here’s a brilliant film about a Welsh farmer.
This is not football 